An Ax to Grind
by BioD42
Summary: Loktar Aeducan is many things: An outcast prince. A Grey Warden. A bastard. In dire need of a good ax.  This is his quest to find one.
1. Part 1: A Woeful Tale

There was unrest in the Circle tower. Abominations ran wild and slaughtered many, ancient magical seals threatened to become undone, and the Templars were poised to kill mage and abomination alike.

This did not seem to hamper the Grey Warden's spirits.

"When I lived in the palace I had such a fine ax" began the son of house Aeducan to the newest addition to their ever growing band of warriors.

Alistair, who had by now heard this story more than any sane man should, simply groaned and rested his head in his right palm. Wynne, the latest victim of the tale to be, either did not hear him or ignored him. This would prove to be her undoing.

Lord Aeducan continued: "Truly there has only been a better ax in legends and long forgotten histories of the dwarven glory days. The head was perfectly balanced and sharp as Zevran's tongue. Made from the finest Silverite, it was". A spark shone in his eye. His brow was heavy with nostalgia.

"In the middle of the two massive blades was a jewel; a sapphire as big as my fist. Before I saw your night sky, I had not seen such a deep blue, and never have I seen one so beautiful a shade".

So far, Sten and Leliana had been the only one who had enjoyed the story, but one wondered if even they began to tire of it. Wynne's palms began to itch, as if to warn her of a danger she could not yet see.

The Grey Warden did not cease: "The handle was exquisite ironbark, traded for with the Dalish ages ago. When you held this ax, it was like embracing a lovely woman and sharing a fine ale with a dear friend. Ale at least, is one thing you topsiders have gotten right. Who'd have thought a drink made of grain could have such a splendid taste?"

The story seemingly over Wynne tried to focus on the task at hand. Leliana however, knew that Loktar Aeducan was not that merciful and prepared herself. "Oh Maker" she muttered under her breath. As it turned out, Leliana _was_ now sick of that damn ax.

"_The_ _Final Light_ I called it, as the glint of the blades was to be the last thing my enemies saw before their death". An all too bloodthirsty smile settled firmly on his face.

"I carried that ax everywhere I was to carry a weapon or don armor. When the halls of Orzammar whispered of Loktar Aeducan, the warrior without peer, they whispered of _The Final Light_."

This had been the moment when Morrigan, who under most circumstances was rather taken with him, had told him in no uncertain terms to shut up or face her bountiful wrath. Like most things, this did not seem to cause him much hesitance .

"Alas, when I was banished she was lost to me. No doubt she was given to that bastard Behlen, or Stone forbid, thrown into the Deep Roads to become the treasure of a casteless scavenger or a cursed Darkspawn". The tone with which he spoke was rueful, as if he were discussing the passing of a loved one, not the loss of a weapon.

The party opened a door and found a group of spellbound Templars. Wynne regretted to face good men in combat, but she was secretly glad to find an excuse, any excuse, for her compatriot to shut his bearded trap. No doubt the Maker had a twisted sense of humor, because Loktar seemed unperturbed by the violence.

"You know, I do not so much mind being cast out of my home and becoming a Grey Warden as one might think". Wynne began to wonder if the dwarven kind had some arcane way of amplifying their voices, because she could hear him in the heat of battle just as well as she could before. Alistair and Leliana seemed to fight all the harder for it.

"I do not even mind saving this sorry nation from the Blight, even if it does smell like wet dog".

"It does not smell like wet dog!" Wynne indignantly interjected. To no avail.

"But I have yet to find a single decent battleax in all of Ferelden!" The thought seemed to grant him strength, for he beheaded his current foe with contemptuous ease.

"Swords you can make, there are even some fairly competent armorers around these parts, but damn you all, you can not make a blasted battleax to save your sorry hides!"

The last foe lay dead on the cold stone.

Leliana said some prayers for the fallen while their fearless leader casually removed the helm off a Templar and said: "Kind words are no more use to the dead, girl".

He replaced his helm with the new found one and tossed it to Alistair. "You can have that now. Now let us depart; we aren't _completely_ covered in blood just yet".

"Is he always like that?" Wynne asked quietly.

"No," Alistair replied "usually he's just kind of a bastard. Though you'd never know that if he's trying to charm you. I like him more as a bastard. Consider it a hazing ritual, Wynne. You lived through the sob story, so you're part of the team now!"

"I suppose I am, Alistair. I suppose I am".


	2. Part 2: A Sword of Legend

The demon was massive, the size of a very large bear at least. It seemed to be like a rage demon, but less coherent somehow. Bits of it appeared to float in and out of existence and one could never quite focus on it for more than a moment before you became immensely fascinated with that rock or the swooshing sound a blade made when swung.

Most would have been to distracted to face such a creature, but Loktar was a dwarf of exceptional willpower, Alistair was a trained Templar, Leliana had some mental conditioning as well (though she did seem less accurate than usual), and the rest of the people present were mages of varying degrees of competence.

All in all, a group well suited to face such a challenge.

"Leliana!" Loktar barked "Ice arrows!". To her credit, the bard only hesitated a moment before switching to her enchanted payload.

"It's not _actually_ made of fire" Wynne said while using her skill to protect the rest from something that seemed to do fire's job just fine.

"Thank you for your lesson in semantics". The Warden's retort was almost cut short by a barely parried blow of the demon's massive arms.

"The arrows seem to be working just fine" Alistair casually remarked. He was kept busy by a gout of not-flame. The monster seemed hellbent on keeping him away.

Wynne acknowledged Alistair's point with chagrin. The demon appeared to be caused some pain, as far as creatures of the Fade could feel such things. It's rebuttal came in the form of an unearthly explosion that flung Leliana into a wall and knocked her out cold.

The damage however, was already done.

Seizing his chance, Loktar drove his blade through what passed for the creatures chest. The demon, fairly miffed, responded only with a swipe from both arms that would have killed the warden had he not dodged. As it was, the creature snapped the broadsword in two.

Lord Aeducan promptly punched it in the face.

The room seemed to stop for a few crucial seconds. Loktar quickly discarded his right gauntlet, now quite hot, from his hand. The demon gave as close an approximation of incredulity as it could with it's even less coherent face area. Almost everyone else was equally bewildered.

Grey Warden or not, Loktar Aeducan was but a mere mortal. Had he really just _punched a powerful demon in the face_?

They didn't ponder the absurdity for very long because the silence was, of course, broken by the dwarf.

"Stop standing there and kill the damn thing!"

Bolts of magical energy of all kinds once again made the room unsafe; any closets and bookcases not already destroyed by the Abominations were now reduced to splinters and burnt pages. Bits of stonework were tossed around like snowballs and gouts of flame scorched and singed whatever they didn't burn completely. The mages together were faster than the demon and started to slow it down substantially. It would sometimes try to strike at a mage only to be held back by Loktar and his mighty broomstick, recently procured, and retreat. Then, it would try to prey upon the still unconscious Leliana before being stopped by the sudden appearance of an wall of ice. It's attacks were random and capricious but it still did not like being bombarded with heavy and explodey things.

Suddenly, the dwarven Warden threw his most magnificent of weaponry at the entity and in the short moment it was distracted by this new insult all the mages unloaded what they had left. Then Alistair, who had positioned himself fortuitously in the few seconds of bafflement, cornered him. The great demon made some exploratory swipes but seemed to expend most of its energy on staying as far from him as possible. Alistari grinned.

"Oh, big scary demon, afraid of little old me? I'm hurt! Is it because _this_ is a templar blade and _I _am the one person in this room who knows how to use it!? Say hello to the Fade for me, you ugly beast!"

His silver sword struck at the wound Loktar had made and the demon let out a tortured screech. All were forced to their knees by the unholy sound, but it was too late. What once faded in and out of this world simply faded. The will and the power that had bound all the stray thoughts together died and the once hulking thing evaporated into the air, screaming all the while.

"Were the dramatics necessary?" asked Loktar.

"Yes" said Alistair of the Grey Wardens said, "Yes they were".

Where once the demon stood, now a sword lay. From Silverite it was forged and though its shape was unassuming, the sheen caught the eye just fine.

"Maker preserve us" said Wynne "that's Yusaris, the dragonslayer!"

"One of your folktales, I wager?" was Loktar's commentary.

"No mere folktale, Warden. This sword is older than this tower. It's legend is known by all of Ferelden".

"I went to bed with stories about this sword" Alistair interjected "You could sell this to the Chantry and live like a king for the rest of your days!"

"That life if already mine by right. I care little for your old wives tales or your Chantry's offerings. I am in need of a sword and this one is of fine make. It's no ax, but it will do".

So, he sheathed the ancient greatsword and they went on their way. In the hands of the Warden, it wouldn't be long until the Dragonslayer fulfilled its promise.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> What's this? An update? IMPOSSIBLE!

So, here's the second chapter to our little trilogy of weapon-based woe. It's sat around on my computer for at least half a year now and it was high time I released it into the wild. If I get back into Dragon Age, I may finish this little dalliance, but for now: I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
